


In a Moment I met my Future equal

by narikopathfinder



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Childhood, Friendship, Inspiration, M/M, Romance, figure skating, young Viktor, young Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narikopathfinder/pseuds/narikopathfinder
Summary: A fated encounter, and the spell had been cast. A Russian champion, was now caught in this frosty enchantment





	1. Chapter 1

The cherry blossoms fell gently around in swirls surrounding the ice rink. Some of them lightly pink and some innocently white petals would fly off to unknown parks within the gentle yet chilled breeze of this larger city. In this city, a young boy named Katsuki Yuri 14 years old, with his ruffled black hair, and dark brown eyes. Smiled toward the mechanical doors, he was finally here.

 

Excited thoughts running through the young teen’s psyche, later this afternoon he would be able to watch his idols figure skating. Around this time, ^the season had for professional figure skaters.^ Ended until starting up again in September. *It cannot hurt to skate around an hour, before I find somewhere to eat.*Pondering thoughts in mind, Yuri padded his pockets to make sure he still had his ticket for the evenings ice show. Grinning from ear to ear…Yuri was glad to have gotten this chance. He had to repay Mari-neechan, with something extra special for his older sisters own University examination next year.

 

For this was the very reason he had such a special ticket to this ice show, Katsuki Mari. Had spent, her part-time job money. So she could give her little brother, a surprise middle school graduation present. His sneakers padded against, tiled floor of the entrance hall. An older teen that did look to be around three years older than Nishigori-kun, smiled at Yuri and said, “Well whom do we have here?” asked the Nishigori, look alike. Still growing fingers, clutched around some yen coins, silently Yuri counted up till he reached 802 yen.

 

Laying the coins on the counter he asked “Will this be enough Mister?” The Nishigori look alike, took a quick head count, and nodded with a smile. “Yes, that will give you just about an hour. Before those warming up for the show, will need to use the rink.” Yuri gave a light grin in response, his black bangs swishing from side to side. The fourteen year old headed in the direction of the main rink hall. Laying, down his bag, and unlatching his skates from their own compartment in the bag. Knowing fingers tied the laces, with a firm tug on each foot. He did not feel like tying the laces, loosely as he had done two months ago. Yuko-san had scolded him for a whole 15 minutes of the proper ways to tie ones ice skates, and a few tricks how to double check. They were secured accordingly, after his newly applied routine check…Yuri slid onto the rink, his brown eyes wide in awe at the size.

 

It was so much bigger than Ice Castle Hasetsu, Yuri had been in slightly bigger ice halls, after he began competing last year in regional events for up and coming junior ice skaters. Yuri’s ears perked up as a familiar melody, re sounded throughout the speaker system of the ice hall. Yuri smiled admirably, as he recalled practicing this routine with Yuko-san. ^No one else is around, does not matter if I cannot make the last jump..^ Were the wayward yet giddy thoughts of the young boy, filtered into his slow warm ups.

 

Yuri prepped his stretches a bit further, before he set into the first jump sequence. That had launched his Idols short programme for the Grand Prix Finale in Switzerland…December last year.  Foreign blue eyes absently glanced down, at the ice rink in wonder, a voice in the distance faded away as those blue eyes glued themselves onto the young boy below….”As I said Mr Nikiforov, it will be a sight to behold. When you perform the short, programme from the Grand Prix Finale, ahem! Mr Nikiforov…”

 

A few wayward strands of hairs…framed the foreigners features, swayed into a halfway curve of some hairs that had escaped their trademark ponytail by now. The 18 year old reluctantly met the stern black gaze of the manager for this ice show event, giving what he hoped would be an apologetic smile. “Im sorry Mr Sencha, I could not help but look down on the rink, to see that exceptional young boy. Capable of performing my short programme with such passion...” The notable Mr Sencha, allowed his black eyes to follow those of the blue foreigners, preoccupied attention upon the rink. He had to admit…to himself…that the young boy had immeasurable amount of talent. Onto the ice rink itself, Katsuki Yuri, decided to take a break. It had only been 5 minutes on the ice, but to think he had pulled off those triple toe loops, without falling once. Greedily Yuri grasped the, water bottle to reach, his lips gulping down four times in a row. Before brushing away some sweat with his sleeves, the fringes of his black hair covering Yuri’s dark brown eyes, a tint of red collected from the chill of the ice hall and the warmth spreading throughout his body.

 

Yuri’s ears caught the change in music over the system…this time it was the same melody that had been played, during Viktor Nikiforov’s debut into the senior leagues. A slow grin escaped the young boy’s lips, before preparing for that very free programme. That he had seen on TV, alongside Yuko-san and Nishigori-kun, closely two years ago. That very moment when Yuri had decided he wanted to stand beside Viktor Nikiforov, at the podium of the Grand Prix Finale, one day.  The foreign blue eyes, belonging to Viktor, hidden from view, as the 18 year old’s heart began steadily beating erratically against his chest. Just to observe the passionate Japanese boy from afar, a faint flush slithered up the young Russian cheeks, pale as a morning’s melted frost, upon cobblestones of St Petersburg.

 

A pale hand reached up to cover Viktor’s mouth, trying to hide his lack of breath his lungs demanding air.. Some sort of freedom, from the ethereal visage of the much younger boy, skating his old routine with fondness, and was that love in the boys brown eyes. Viktor could see? No no, he couldn’t possibly, the black haired boy had to be at least four years his junior. Viktor, shook those thoughts away. Not today he could think about this talented young boy at another time, for now he had to focus on the ice show.

 

By the time Viktor, came to his eyes focused on the worried expression, which made Mr Sencha’s hairline turn up into aging wrinkles. The two of them returned to business, all but remaining and settled. Before the 18 year old so dearly, hoped the boy on the ice had, not left yet. But to see the neutral negative coming from Mr Sencha’s young son at the entrance hall, Viktor steadied his breathing…and gazed beyond the mechanical doors, blue eyes searching for a pair of lovely dark brown eyes. And a mop of black hair, no such luck. The silver haired man stepped outside into the crisp air of March, not as chilling as St. Petersburg, mind you. But enough for the spirits of the winds to carry a message in Russian, _“Will we meet again my Veela…my equal Veela”_ , inside the park not far from the Ice Hall, Katsuki Yuri was about to eat his steamed bun. But the chilling breeze brought a message, he could not translate for himself but Yuri did sneeze. Before he bit into the warm steamed bun.


	2. Chapter 2

The applause surrounding the vibrant Ice Hall, were the Ice show had just ended. Foreign blue eyes searched the crowd, for those deep brown eyes, which had captivated the 18 year old Russian. Slender hands, lifted up as if to raise his hand to ask a question, however the other participants of the Ice show scattered. A worthy finale went before the crowd, as tantalizing Spanish tunes. Echoed along the speakers, clapping his hands, Viktor spun himself into gentle spins, one firm toe-pick against the ice.

 

 Double clap, in tandem with the music, gasps of wonder picked up along with the audience. A passionate flamenco came to life upon the rink. Within two sweeping quad jumps one knee gliding along the slippery surface. Arms stretched in a welcoming gesture, were there only seemed to be a temporary sphere between dark brown, and foreign blue eyes. Yuri’s face erupted with a similar crimson flame, covering the fourteen year old’s cheeks. As quickly as it had begun, the enchantment between the two ended.

 

The Audience enthusiastically clapped at the display of such a unique control, meanwhile our favourite ice skater Yuri, absently kept touching his heated cheeks. While he walked to the train station, it was odd. Seeing as Yuri himself had not been on the ice beside his idol. However his berating heartbeats thumping against, weary lungs seemed to believe otherwise. “No, noo, simply not possible. He was assuredly looking like that at the entire audience, and not on me..”

 

These arguing speech patterns continued, all the way back to Hasetsu, and his family’s onsen. But when Katsuki Yuri, touched his cheeks once more, and his left hand went up to his excited heartbeat. Yuri had already laid down on his bed prepared for sleep, but those blue eyes had certainly done something to the young skater. Weary and tired he soon fell asleep, with a new conviction inside his heart. “One day we will be on the same ice..”

After the weekends rush of events had settled a little further inside Yuri’s young heart. The black haired boy was thrilled at the prospect of, trying out some of the routine. He had seen Viktor perform during the final round of the Ice Show, Yuri chuckled to himself. The mandatory school uniform shoes shimmered with, a hint of black in the morning sun. A suitcase formed schoolbag, and his personal bag with ice skates, a towel, a bottle for water. Yuri’s own personal stroll, with a straight back and still capable of not looking to feminine, even if some of his actions had been set from years of ballet.

 

This might be why Yuri at times would try a pirouette or hopping down one step at a time, with one leg stretched out, arms balancing his body, down the steps from Yu-topia Katsuki Onsen, one of the few remaining hot springs in Hasetsu. With a stable flow of regular customers mainly from Hasetsu themselves, and at times tourists could enjoy a muscle relaxing bath. In one of the many natural springs, Yu-topia had been built around. The fourteen year old’s last pirouette down the last step, for then to try and swing into fluid and firm stance meant for flamenco.

 

This was the mystified display Yuko found when saw Yuri’s attempt at a faulty stunt.And she made certain to rant into his ear, on their way to their respective schools. Of all the ways such a stunt, could have gone wrong, as Yuri had not yet reached his growth spurt quite yet. Unnecessary stunts could very likely ruin Yuri’s already promising future within figure skating.

 

The river of Neva still held a few, broken sheets of ice. The shimmering city lights of St. Petersburg reflected against the surface, upon the chilled early evening in March. A brown winter coat kept a young and blonde 18 year old warm. As his winter boots were yet again required, to avoid having the slushing and steadily melting snow. Making his feet cold and wet, completely unbearable to even try and skate with cold feet. Which is where we, find out that Viktor Nikiforov preferred to keep his feet warm. Against the winds that would sweep up along Neva, from the Baltic Sea.  

The quivering breeze would twirl around the unsuspecting pedestrians on their way home from work, or to usher their children to an assortment of cultural activities. Viktor sighed in relief as his eyes glanced at the familiar sign ahead, toward his home base for ice skating. Familiarly inside the entrance hall, he had a quick chat with his coach Yakov. Those dark eyes…narrowed in disbelief, when Viktor began babbling about a Veela, appearing before him while in Japan.

 

The older man held his weathered and aged hand, closely against his forehead. Before the hand slid slowly down along, greying strands of hair. And a receding hairline, a heavy sigh upon the worn wrinkles near the older coach’s mouth. “Vitya…How can you be so assured of it being an actual Veela? You do know they are most of the time represented as women who died a tragic death?” Viktor couldn’t help but feel like his creative rush, which had carried him all the way from Japan and back home to Russia.

 

Crumbled ever so slightly as the 18 year, had already learned of the mythical Vila from his grandfather. Viktor truly felt like defending his Japanese Veela, so one of the few occasions where his Russian upbringing returned with a quick *on button* inside the prodigy skater’s mind. “Now listen here Yakov, I am telling you the full truth. I even brought back some evidence; I have a dvd where you can see my Japanese Veela skate my routines.”

 

Replied Viktor tersely, surprisingly cold, as the blonde’s blue eyes seemed to become a shade brighter. At the inclination, that he would make up something like this. When it came to the very sport he loved with all his heart. Yakov relented, and simply allowed Viktor to have his way this once. So many had speculated if Viktor was even a true Russian, but if they had known Viktor for the many years Yakov had learned about his prodigy. Yakov…might say that, none had the amount of hardworking Russian spirit as Viktor Nikiforov.

 

Already settled into the screening room was Viktor’s fellow rink-mate Georgi Popovich, with strewn sketches of different spins, jumps and sequences for skating. Laying down his pencil and paper, Georgi did notice the fringe of glacier wedged between Viktor and Yakov. He had seen it before, but it ever so rarely happened these days. Viktor’s eyes reminded Georgi of icicles, often hanging down from the street lamps during the winter. Eerie blue and distantly cold, observing Viktor made no time for small chat, as they usually did, as he put a shining dvd into the slot in the back of the tv. Not long after pressing play at the back, did the tv awake and showed a young boy on ice skates on a large ice rink.

 

With ruffled black hair and dark brown eyes, but what was so familiar about those sequences. “Viktor..is that not the routine you used during your debut in Bulgaria, not two years ago?” Georgi was stunned someone, much younger than him was able to show their emotions so passionately on the ice. A quick glance at Viktor’s eyes showed that the gaze had softened significantly, and was that a faint blush Georgi could see, as Viktor’s gaze was locked on the boy skating to his old routine. A surprisingly warm smile tugged at Viktor’s lips in response. “Yes Georgi, it is my old routines…” Viktor trailed off again, Georgi took a chance to glance over at their coach.

 

Whom seemed very much deep in thought, calculating, observing the boy on the tv screen. “What is that boys name? Viktor were you able to talk to him?” First Viktor shook his head in the negative, however when he looked back at his fellow rink-mate, the blonde man said. “In that moment, I met my future equal”…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did mention in comments in the previous chapter. This would not be a oneshot, so seeing as so many of you gave this little fanfic over 30 kudos! I hope you will like chapter two just as much..or even more?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The short programme for this chapter is inspired by the disney film. Ice Princess, where in the last scenes we see Casey perform her short with the song Reaching for Heaven.

**We leap nine years into the future…**

 

Viktor Nikiforov glanced at the beige hotel wall. In deep thought, as his memories went back to…was it just before that ice show? Yes it must have been, back then. Viktor vividly recalled his fascination, for the black haired Veela. That had encircled the heart, of his personal passion for figure skating. Suddenly those blue eyes brightened with glee, as deft hands dug into one of the blondes traveling bags. 

 

Tearing open the poor pocket where a small flash drive, tilted out from the intense rustling of the bag. Pale fingers took a hold of the flash drive, and plugged it into the portable laptop. Not long after a familiar recording of a dvd, with the Japanese Veela boy. Blue eyes locked on the screen observing, gazing enthralled. Even if some of the movements were a bit unfinished, Viktor muttered softly toward the boy on the screen. “How much have you improved, since I last saw you?” A sad chuckle escaped Viktor’s lips, tapping on the mousepad froze the image on the screen. A stand still image of a black haired boy with dark brown eyes 

 

A frustrated groan escaped those Russian lips with a huff, older limbs stretched out on the hotel bed, the deep tongues of the Russian language filtered along the lonesome room. “ _ My Veela, when will you cast your spell on me again? I feel like I have lost my passion, so empty. Can I even, be allowed out on the ice?” “My imagination has left me.”  _ It had been in good faith…when not 6 months prior Viktor had begun working on his new free programme. 

*Stay close to me*, was the name Viktor had given the programme. In hopes for a very peculiar reason, that one hidden Japanese Veela, boy from nine years ago…would appear before him again. Viktor remembered that his coach Yakov, had scoffed at the naivety of the programme. Even when Yakov, had been able to see the very Veela, that kept Viktor focused on skating .But these days, Viktor had earned himself enough merit to get some free reins. So while Yakov focused, more on his other students Viktor was allowed to dive longingly with a fragile innocence his blue eyes had imprinted upon. 

 

That early March afternoon only nine years ago, his facial features visibly relaxed. A fond smile quirked around his lips, not long after the Russian 4 time’s world champion, dozed off. 

 

Inside the locker rooms of the chosen ice hall for this year’s Grand Prix Finale, where two boys, carefully adjusting their skates. And tying those skate laces properly, however the older of the two suddenly fell into a fit of violent sneezing. The younger boy was none other than Thailand’s promising hope to make their mark, into the figure skating world. A worried frown gathered along the young man’s face, before he asked. “Hey Yuri, you better not get influenza right before Grand Prix?” A small nervous chuckle and a smile, between sniffles another sneeze came. And the man named Yuri could have sworn he, heard foreign words caress his ears. 

 

Mentally the twenty three year old skater shook his head. He couldn’t focus on that now, he still wanted to work on a few details before his free programme later this evening,luckily he was not first. Dark brown eyes glanced into those of his fellow rink-mate they shared a coach after all. Replying a few minutes, later than expected, “You should not worry about that Phichit-kun, it is still 6 hours till the first free programme. I am certain there is nothing more to it, you know? 

 

In Japan if you sneeze repeatedly, we say someone is thinking of you. ” Phichit allowed a black brow to rise in doubt at such a silly thing. Another disbelieving sigh escaped the Thai twenty year old’s lips before he retorted. “Whomever that person may be, it cannot be positive thoughts. To make you sneeze like that, what if it happens tonight during your free programme?” Yuri shrugged lightly on his shoulders, he was not eager to paint a dark cloud inside his mind just yet. At least Phichit left it at that, as both ventured into the main rink hall. Some of the other competitors already, making their own changes and last chance at muscle memory. Yuri and Phichit, chose an area of the rink, void of their colleagues. Close to an hour on the strike Celestino, their coach approached them both a shopping bag in hand, and waved the two over. 

 

Phichit easily shouted his joy at the sight of some lunch, even if it was a plain pasta salad. With a little ham, and the water bottle of mountain water seemed to cheer up both of them. As they had been practicing for close to an hour, Celestino was a very determined coach, but he was dedicated to make sure his skaters. Were able to reach their potential, though his worries carried, more towards his only Japanese student for the past 5 years, envious agility and stamina. Due to Yuri’s past ballet, experience conditioning his limbs, and preventing the more common strenuous aches. 

 

That usually appeared in those who began with skating alone, before they ventured into improving their form. ^That Yuri, if only he was able to close himself inside a bubble. Instead of listening to others opinions of him^ Celestino’s thoughts trailed off, as he could see the silhouette of Katsuki Yuri leaning against a tree, onto one of the few grassy fields surrounding the Ice Hall. Dark brown eyes, stared down at his quivering hands, Yuri nervously bit down on his lower lip. His left hand grasping around his shaking right hand, knees huddled close to his chin, while observing the noisy traffic of the late afternoon rush in this mountain city. Yuri tried some breathing exercises, to breathe in…hold it for 10 seconds…and then breathe out.

 

Not by much, but it did sate his nerves for a bit. Yuri had gotten some accustomed to speaking English, except for the few calls back home to check upon his friends and family. The abrupt mumbles of familiar Japanese, escaping Yuri’s nervous demeanour, “I have the good luck charms kaasan sent over, I have done well during practice I can do this for sure. Yes, I just need to focus on my own skating.” Yuri heaved a deep breath before he stood up and ventured back to the Ice Hall, his butt was beginning to get cold. No point in encouraging more poor luck than he already had.

 

Darkness fell over the city, but the thousands of orange and yellow lights. Among early evening traffic did not hinder those who had already purchased tickets for the Grand Prix qualifiers. To find their seats, and get away from the massive crowd that would gather, closer to the first competitor of the evening. Yuri sat against a bench near the wall to some of the lower seat rows, his hand twitching for his phone to read the comments online. Grey blue eyes narrowed at the offending piece of technology, an older tanned hand. Snatched the phone under the fingers of a rather agitated Yuri, Celestino gave Yuri a pointed gaze. That promised the phone might return, once the short programme had been completed on the rink. 

 

Yuri might be twenty three years old, but his coach snatching his crucial line to the world wide web, just before he was about to go out on the rink himself. The black haired man pursed, his lips childishly creating a pout. Accusing brown eyes trying to guilt the half Italian, half American of a coach to return his phone. But to no avail…Celestino had years of practice with similar behaviour.  “Will Skater Katsuki Yuri come out on the ice…” the spokesman said over the speakers in within the rink. Yuri’s back straightened with anticipation Celstino squeezed the nervous shoulder, as he said. “Yuri, you can do this.” 

 

Yuri nodded nervously as he took off his jacket revealing his short programme costume, white see through sleeves, softly gliding into the darkest depths of royal blue. Shimmering with accents making, the costume appear akin to a starry night sky above the snowy landscape. Yuri glided onto the middle of the rink, head down cast as the familiar music began to play. A taking a swift swing along the ice, allowing Yuri to gain a momentum of speed. Arms stretched out as he jumped into a triple Salchow. Vibrant blue eyes peeked through one of the staff doors, eyes wide at the short programme performance. “That boy…” muttered Viktor in Russian, the depth of the dark brown eyes focused preparing the triple Salchow. In that moment deep brown eyes gazed into those Russian blue eyes at the door. Yuri knew that he had seen those eyes before, his idol was watching him. Viktor looked at him this time Yuri’s heart began throbbing against his chest. 

 

But Yuri’s body had acted, on its own and over rotated the triple salchow. Yuri’s body landed painfully against the ice, he could hear the comments. But he could not give up when his idol was watching him, rising quickly back up to not loose anymore points. 

 

Sailing upon the ice Yuri, followed into the rotational spin and hopped into split jump before kneeling down on the ice. Allowing the speed to push him, further toward the edges of the rink outside ina bauer, with arms stretched out. An elegant curve, as Yuri jumped into a triple loop. The skating knives carved against the ice. Viktor’s heart was beating rapidly he had not meant, for the boy skating to miss his momentum of the triple salchow. 

 

Viktor winced, as he was more than familiar with that kind of bruising. His blue eyes continued watching the remainder of the routine. Suddenly Viktor’s chest began heaving for air, flushed cheeks coloured the usual pale Russian champion. As the movements of the brown eyed skater, caught Viktor in a spell his pale hand went in front of his lips. Trying to calm his rapid breathing, swallowing just enough so that Viktor. Be able to breathe normally. 

 

The skater out on the rink finished with a triple lutz, rapid jumps flittered …with a last flying glide toward the middle, of the rink as the brown eyed skater. Spun into a combination spin, left arm raised as the right arm curved against the stomach. 

Yuri’s body upper half bowed toward the judges and the audience, he was quite certain he had done well this time. Viktor was suddenly torn out of his trance as a firm grip on his jacket made him stumble back, into the annoyed expression of Yakov. “Viktor! You were supposed to help out with the jumps 10 minutes ago!”   


	4. Crumbled Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a few days to write but I do hope you will like it. If you want to give me some inspiration, or give me a nudge in the right direction. Be it good or bad? Not to worry I will answer!

The audience cheered and clapped their gloved hands in applause as the 23 -year-old Japanese figure skater. Yuri Katsuki had performed a fairly eloquent short programme. The judges muttered among themselves, as Yuri skated out of the rink and stumbled over to the kiss and cry. Celestino’s stern eyes upon one of his better students. As he added curtly; “You deviated Yuri! When did you plan on telling me you wanted to switch to that triple Salchow? I thought we agreed on having a double lutz in the second half?” Yuri abashedly flushed.Usually, he did follow what Celestino told him. But after having seen a pair of remarkable blue eyes watching his short. At least Yuri was 99% certain it had been none other than Viktor Nikiforov, watching him from the askew door to the rink. The black haired Japanese skater absently made a shy gesture of tapping his cheek. While trying to appease his coach; “I am truly sorry Celestino, I just…erm…wanted to see if I could do it.”

 

Celestino raised his hairline at such a statement; _it was so unlike Yuri to take chances like this. And especially during something as big as during his short programme for the duration of the Grand Prix Final._ The two took a seat and gazed at the screen counting up the scores as Celestino muttered the score Yuri sighed. It could have been much worse; the judges had been impressed with his near perfect triple salchow. Celestino patted his student on the back as he intended to make his point across. “You could have gotten hurt, damage with a triple Salchow might have ended your skating career.” Yuri pursed his lips and sighed as they left the kiss and cry. The background noise of Michele Crispino’s short programme, thrumming along the walls. He knew his coach was right about this, but Yuri also knew he had felt a sudden tumble of courage crashing into his very heart.

 

When his brown eyes had met with those of Russian blue, belonging to Viktor. Yuri shook his head out of the dream-like state; he could not think like this now. When he had finally reached the same competitive rink as his number one idol. “…80 is not that bad of a score for your short skate. But you were 5 points below what you did get during the Japanese championship last season, you see Yuri that triple salchow did cost you.” Said Celestino, his eyes watching with caution if someone might have switched his Japanese skater for a complete stranger. Celestino held up the younger man's water bottle, taking it without protest.Yuri merely nodded as he sipped on water from his bottle.

Yuri was well aware that Celestino was right, he had taken a chance but still lost an entire 5 points. Suddenly a familiar smartphone swayed in front of the Japanese skater Yuri snatched his smartphone back. And absently glowered accusingly over at his coach, Celestino shrugged his shoulders and gave a small smile. As the half Italian – half American muttered a few select phrases of how the younger generations, had too much dependency within the social networking communities. Not to mention all the vivid news articles Yuri had a habit of browsing through when he did poorly during competitions. Celestino had picked up a few Japanese phrases over the past five years, but when it came to all those confusing alphabets. _No, wait Yuri had called them something else, hirakana and kanja…was it?_

Celestino frowned in thought and was unaware that he had fully forgotten to observe his students competition. Yuri is intent on reading the Japanese news articles regarding his short programme. Well aware that Celestino couldn’t read a single character aside from Yuri’s name. The hallways of the large ice hall in Sochi was vacant. Most had taken their seats, except for one Viktor Nikiforov. Under the watchful eye of Yakov Feltsman, finding it in only logical to help Viktor. Keep up with the warm ups so no injuries would occur while on the ice, not to mention that Viktor’s body was getting weary with the approaching twenty years, of dutiful focus on figure skating. Pale lips pursed in thought as Yakov repeated his final warm-ups.

Muscles in his arms straining lightly, between familiar stretches. Viktor Nikiforov one could say at the peak of, his career was feeling at a loss of what to do. Something had been missing for awhile, though Viktor could not name it exactly. That was until he had strayed closer to the half opened rink door, and his blue eyes had locked onto a familiar but much older Japanese Veela. So very closely to the breath he lost nine years ago. When Viktor first saw the veela boy from the commentator's box, in a fairly sized rink in Japan.

 

Embers had erupted into flames reaching out of their stagnant state; it had been nine years. And the experience of finding an equal so young. The inspiration and lack of knowledge concerning the boy. Viktor had never been able to learn the boy's name, and Georgi had made certain to jibe a few comments about that over the years. Viktor had firmly decided not to follow the attempted mind games. But now he was so close to his Japanese Veela; Viktor looked down at his hands. His blue eyes are widening with amazement; they were convulsing, quivering with excitement;

 

“My Veela, you appeared before me again. When I thought your enchantment had left me for good, you cast it again…and I feel.” Viktor’s thoughts or so he believed, had become louder than expected and filtered into familiar Russian. Nevertheless, Yakov may be nearing 70 that did not make him weak of hearing. Fully capable of picking up Viktor’s louder thoughts, trying to get through the light trance; “…if you only stopped thinking of that Veela…that boy from all those years ago cannot possibly be here…”

 “Vitya! Are you listening to me!?” Yakov closely screeched near Viktor’s ear; the veteran coach had narrowed his dark eyes. Watching one of his most prized prodigy skaters, suddenly get quivering hands akin to a novice during their first competition. Viktor frowned toward Yakov’s persisting screech, his right ear thrumming at the sudden lack of activity. Viktor absently rubbed his tender ear, as he gave one of his more genuine smiles. Yakov’s eyes softened for a few seconds, the worries slowly disappearing. If Viktor were able to smile like that, there would be no need for more concerns on his part.

 

Excepting for that rare cold and searing fire encircling within Viktor’s irises. How many years had it been since Yakov last saw that; _^Could it have been after Vitya returned from Japan? Or would it be that small shimmer when Viktor, started on working on his free programme?But then it is that something is missing from Vitya’s skating. Even if his eyes try to portray some of it, his body is unable to express it. ^_ Yakov and Viktor soon enough trailed back to the rink; Viktor was next in line for performing his short programme. Yuri Katsuki’s brown eyes gazed on the older monitor watching his fellow competitors; Cao Bin had been the first one out than it had been that Swiss figure skater Christophe Giacometti, Yuri had done his short programme right after Giacometti, then it was the Italian Michele Crispino.

At the end of Jean – Jacques Leroy’s short programme, a rather confident and skilled Canadian skater. The last in the lineup was currently none other than Viktor Nikiforov, gliding onto the ice. So very poised and what one may call a sense of sorcery descended upon the captivated audience. Yuri’s deep brown eyes shimmered in awe, as his idol entered the ice. Each sequence, the quad jumps marking its scars over the weary ice. It seemed like Michele and Sala Crispino, had decided to join him by the monitor.

“Woah look at that Sala! That is Viktor Nikiforov..” Sala snickered at her brothers, simplified explanation. Albeit the two siblings, became quiet and decided to allow the quiet tendrils of absolute focus on Viktor’s performance. Sala turned to her left to see a rather intensified gaze marring Yuri Katsuki’s features. She could have sworn that her brother Mickey, had made a note of the Japanese Skaters notorious gentle and nervous nature. But that look was something else…

 

That seemed to confirm the scores of the short programmes for today. Viktor Nikiforov won the short with ease, Leroy and Giacometti tied on their scores. It seemed like they would have to skate it out tomorrow, Cao Bin from China had an even score for his short programme. Lastly, Yuri noticed he would need to fight the Italian Michele Crispino for a chance at climbing closer to Viktor. A comforting hand on his shoulder notified Yuri it was time to get changed and return to the hotel.

 

 It was during a stable dinner inside the hotel that Yuri’s smartphone began to vibrate against his pocket. The Japanese Skater gave an apologetic bow toward his coach, as he excused himself from the table. His hand drawing out the smartphone, brown eyes looking down at the caller id *Kaasan* _^It is rare for her to call this early from Japan, I wonder what she wants?^_ the habit of using his thumb to slide the call to be answered.

Went without trouble, holding the phone to his ear Yuri said; “Ah Hi mum, why are you calling? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” …”Oh, Yu-chan im so sorry to tell you this now that you have gotten this far…but well you see…” His mother's voice was quivering with sadness. Yuri could hear that much, and then he heard light sobbing in the background. Which suspiciously sounded like his older sister Mari, but Yuri knew she rarely ever shed a tear. Always cool, carefree and composed. A sense of death enshrined Yuri Katsuki, making him frozen to the spot. Were he stood between the dining hall and the elevators going up to the many guestrooms of the hotel.

 

The distant sobbing seemed to come closer..”He..hey.Yuri” “Oh Mari-nee, what is happening back home?” Yuri’s nerves were on edge; this was not normal behaviour from his usual cheerful and supportive family. His ears heard the choked sob in the back, from his mother. He thought and the comforting murmurs from his father. But then there was the shaky voice of his older sister “Im so very sorry, there was nothing we could do…he, Vicchan just…stopped moving. Vicchan was cold when…when dad found him..”

 

Yuri’s hold on his smartphone tightened, his hand curled within a draining white. His breath hitched, nervous, panic, sadness, denial. Yuri’s these emotions sped through the constant miniature movie clips of memories. Swiftly playing across his mind's eye Yuri’s poodle was dead. “Ma…Mari-neechan..this is not funny. Especially not right before the Grand Prix final tomorrow…” Yuri gave a weak chuckle as if it would be one of her old pranks. When they were much younger, but the telltale giggle never came in return from Mari. She was quiet, her breath shallow. Lacking air, missing the brown curly bundle that had warmed his way into the hearts of the Katsuki family in Hasetsu. Mari cleared her throat; “Yu-chan, Vicchan he died. Vicchan is completely cold; his breath is not warm anymore.”

The hollowed chill entered Yuri’s body; he choked back a sob, eyes cast down against the hotel carpet. His hand clutching the smartphone tightly; “Tha…thank..you for calling to tell me Mari – neechan, I’ll call you guys tomorrow. I should get to bed.” The other line quickly ended after a few goodbyes. Yuri was no longer hungry he really should get back up to his hotel room. He would text Celestino later, yes that would do. Head kept low, as his right hand nimbly clicked on the down arrow. Slithering warm droplets trailed cautiously down Yuri’s hidden features.

His body stiff and automatic one foot shakily in front of the other, as Yuri stepped into the elevator. He could sense another occupant in the elevator. But his vision was blurry; Yuri had quickly removed his glasses. Dampened glasses was never a good idea; a low sniffle gave some air back to Yuri’s weary and strained lungs. Blue eyes glanced toward the distraught young man, the face of this many had that one peculiar shade of silvery blonde strands.

 

A quarter of his bangs covering one eye, this man was never good with people that cried. But this silvery blonde felt closely compelled. As if a spell had been thrown on him, a light cough. As the silvery blonde asked in a gruff accented English; “Why…you be so sad? My Veela, should not shed tears.” The last comment ended up in pure Russian. Yuri was at a loss why a stranger would ask of his wellbeing. Yuri had barely been able to speak  English without an accent not until three years ago, but this man beside him. Had a rough and just enough to allow the other occupant to make himself more understood. And such a voice certainly belonged to a man. “Ah…my dog died.” Yuri surprised himself with that kind of honesty, and especially toward a stranger…         

**Author's Note:**

> This is another idea that quirked my interests. During a chat with fellow Yuri on Ice fans, but I decided to start when both of them were a tad younger. I hope you liked it.


End file.
